beLIEve
by xxWickedWench
Summary: Flick was, is, and always will be the light in Spot Conlon's darkness. :For Firefly Conlon's contest!:


**beLIEve**

Flicker glared at the strong arms that held her pinned to the wall of the Brooklyn Lodging House. All the newsies gaped in shock, frozen in utter shock, much too afraid of stepping in and incurring the same wrath that Flick was currently getting. Some of them had pleaded with her to let him win, let him be right, because everyone knew Spot Conlon loved being right, but Flick never just _let_ anyone do anything, especially when she didn't want them to.

Spot glared right back at her, teeth barred like an animal, the sour stench of alcohol wafting from his breath. Flicker hated that. Hated that the only time he got pissed with her was when he was drinking. He was just like his damn daddy, beating up on girls because alcohol brought the worst out of him. He smirked when she recoiled back in disgust, like the bastard he was.

"So you want to say that again then, doll?" he asked casually. Flick hated that. She was not a doll.

"I hate you," she intoned quietly, with a thread of steel lacing her words. His smirk dropped when his muddled brain caught up to the fact that she'd just been cheeky enough to do what he said and repeat herself. Flick smiled. "You told me to say it again, so I did."

"Stupid whore!" he growled and shoved her tot he ground. He hovered over her, cane raised threateningly. "I am the best thing that's ever happened to you, Flick. _You need me!_"

Flick continued to glare, ignoring the throbbing in her head from where she'd hit it on the way down. "No, Conlon. _You _need _me_! If I weren't here, these kids would be scared shitless because of you! You're a damn monster and a damn drunk! Just like your daddy!"

Her body curled in on itself when he struck her hard in the ribs with his cane. He'd never smashed her face with the damn thing, simply using his hands to slap her when he felt like it. Flicker groaned, wrapping her arms around herself. Self-preservation.

"If I'm such a monster, when why do you keep coming back to me?" he whispered into her ear, his breath warm and foul.

"I don't know, Spot," she whispered back. She looked up slowly, his blue eyes murky and unfocused, cold and callous, as he peered down at her. Finally, after eons, he straightened up and left the Lodging House, leaving his newsies to assist her.

Benjamin Liam Conlon was unhappy. He couldn't find Flick anywhere. She hadn't been around his selling spot, like she normally was, selling her own papes with that pretty smile she wore so often, nor was she in any of her usual places. He'd gone to her usually spots and nothing. She wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere!

Annoyed, and sporting a splitting headache from his hangover, Ben followed his feet as they ambled down the dusty roads he knew so well. Finally, he passed an intersection to an old, slum part of Brooklyn. There, an old, decrepit building loomed in front of him on the corner, once an old textile factory but it had gotten shut down due to the shameful behavior that took place in the walls. It was the last place he was going to look before giving up and going back to his docks to sulk until Flick showed up.

He slid under the half-boarded front door, the bottom boards having been pulled off by Flick herself to get inside. The metal stairs screamed under his weight as he climbed them, and reached the loft, smiling when he saw her. Her back was turned to him and her hat was off, dark hair hanging free down her back. She was staring intently out the dirty window.

Ben knew her story. Her parents had mated by a wine-dark sea, under the cool light of a full moon. They didn't know each other at all, just two drunk teenagers fulfilling a passing fancy. It was a fling, a hopeless cause. Her mother never saw him again, and went mad with grief when she found out she was pregnant. She ran away from home, had her baby on the street, a pretty little baby girl with a head full of thick, dark hair, and blue eyes, gave her to an orphanage and hung herself with a laundry cord soon after.

Flick, or Katie as she was called in her former life, lived in the orphanage for the first eight years of her life. She was the quiet girl, with her head in a book of poetry or Shakespeare, and the children often teased her for watching the newsboys outside every morning, and then begging for a penny to go and buy a paper from them.

She wasn't brave enough to run away, not that she'd have anywhere to go, but she loved going to magic shows and begged the nuns quite often to take the children. One night, they'd gone to see a strange magician named Max Malini who was performing. Flick was so enamored by his performance that she marched up to him after the show and asked him to share all his secrets with her about performing magic.

In return, he decided to take the little girl from the orphanage. Max trained her in illusions, sharing secrets and tips and even let her be his opening act when she was a bit older. She moved on to being his 'lovely' assistant soon after, and they traveled all across America and in scattered parts of Europe as well.

When Flick expressed an interest in going to a real school, having been studying with private tutors, Max returned them all to New York City, where he grew up, and set up a semi-permanent show in Manhattan, so she could attend a real school, like she desired.

It was then that she met the newsies, and her life flipped on its head.

"Why are you here, Spot? Haven't you done enough?" Flick asked, shaking him from his thoughts.

Surprised, Spot sat down beside her. She was holding her left side absently and he frowned. "Let me see it, Flick."

She obliged him and pulled her shirt up slightly. He had no time to be left breathless by the smooth expanse of her stomach, too horrified at the large purple bruise spread across her side, in between the bottom of her ribs and her hip. Spot sighed and Flick replaced her shirt, still not looking at him.

"Don't worry, Spot. Bruises heal. I'm not angry," Flicker said quietly.

"Maybe ya should be, Flick. Haven't ya ever wondered why ya don't get angry at me for beatin' on ya like that?"

Flicker shrugged. "I'm not angry because I know you don't mean it. If you meant it, you'd beat me when you're sober, but you don't. This isn't you beating me, it's the alcohol."

"Flicker, look, I–" Spot started but Flick cut him off.

"I know, Spot. You're sorry. You don't know what got into you. It's the same thing I here all the time. Haven't you got any better excuses, Your Majesty?" Flick turned her caustic blue eyes to his.

He was quiet for a long moment, and then sighed. "I am sorry, Flick," he said quietly, not looking at her. "Ain't right what I put you through. And no amount of excuses will make it better. Believe it or not, this is me trying harder. I've been trying to pick myself out of these bad habits but, damn..."

Flick smiled a little and then set her head down on his shoulder. Spot started, looking down at the girl sitting next to him. She wasn't much; she wasn't breathtakingly beautiful, and she had a mouth that never knew when it was the right time to shut up. But he'd never felt this way about anything before. He didn't dare call it love, because love was for sissies, but it definitely was something. She was special, she was different.

She was his flicker of light in the darkness that was his life.

* * *

**Okay, so I'm a total sap. But what did you expect from me at this point?**

**Anyways... this is for Firefly Conlon's contest (nothing like getting it in at the last moment, eh, Firefly? xD. But I promised I'd do it, and I don't break those). I'm thinking it's probably the Spot On part of her challenge, with his first love and whatnot. This was actually written as a character study for the story I'm going to write once I've finished THE CITY OF DIS(shameless plug), so don't be all freaked out when Flicker and Spot come back in a longer, more in depth story. This is just a scratch on the glass, really. But I like it.**

**Do you?**

**CTB!**

**xx Wicked**


End file.
